“Perhaps it is not prophecy at all but the belief in prophecy that fulfills it…” and destiny that brings certain people together in a given place, at a given time. For Mr. and Mrs. Randall, their destiny is to be murdered on a Mexican highway by bandits. And for Mrs. Randall’s emerald ring to be responsible for the danger and near death of Jessie Prewitt and ruin for Luis Pérez.

Jessie Prewitt comes to Mexico to flee the painful memories of her broken marriage. Luis Pérez, a tourist guide, hankers after a life of ease and wealth — and feels the possibility brush his fingertips when the beautiful emerald comes into his possession.

As quickly, police suspicion also brushes against Pérez, and he passes the gem onto Jessie (without her knowledge) when the police come to question him. Pérez intends to reclaim the jewel later — no matter what danger or force results.

As pressure builds for the police to find the emerald and solve the Randalls’ murder, so does the tension and suspense surrounding Pérez’ determination to regain the gem, and Jessie’s unwitting thwarting of his aim.

Told from the omniscient viewpoint, Suzanne Blanc creates very human characters, and allows the reader to understand their frustrations, anxieties and pleasures. Like a finely tuned piece of machinery, all the parts of this book work together in unison. The result is an exquisite “gem” of a story — seemingly plain and simple, but full of depth and color when held to the light.

Hard to believe in a story where the Mexican police get really exercised by the murder of a pair of American tourists by bandits, especially in the period this was written in. In most of the cases I know of the perpetrators would have had to turn themselves in to be caught — though maybe some valuable jewelry would be a different matter.

Even today driving through Mexico is a risky business for American tourists. I don’t mean this as a knock against either the book or Mexico, but the idea that the Mexican police even investigate these cases is pretty close to fantasy fiction. Frankly they are more likely to arrest the tourists for bothering the bandits.

That said the Mexican police are out numbered, under manned, and faced with incredible corruption. It’s a wonder they get as much accomplished as they do. But pretending they treat these cases as priorities is a pretty wide stretch of the facts.

Not knowing how corrupt the Mexican police were or were not in the early 1960s, I was struck myself by the fact that Suzanne Blanc’s police detective, Inspector Menendes, appeared in each of her three books.

I wonder how many other Mexican series sleuths there have been, over the years.

None that I can think of, off hand, but it’s late and maybe the obvious isn’t occurring to me.

I can only think of two off hand, not counting American Hispanics. Pablo Taibo III’s Mexico City pi Hector Belasarian Shayne (Taibo is a Spaniard, but most of his books are set in Mexico) and James Norman’s half Irish half Mexican adventurer General Manuel Quiroga. I don’t suppose we can count Santo, the Blue Devil, and other masked luchadore heroes from comics and films.

Re the Mexican police then and now, the biggest problem isn’t always their corruption but the corruption around them that prevents them from doing their job even if they want to. Add to that the current drug violence and the overwhelming size of the task they probably do as well as they can — that just isn’t very much.

I have personal knowledge of at least three hijackings like the one in the book, including two where it ended in murder, and in all three cases the Mexican police just threw up their hands and admitted that they had no control of what happened to American tourists on their highways much south of the border. That is probably more true today than it was then. As here there are good and bad Mexican police, but even the best are faced with an almost impossible job. For me the premise of the novel just rings false.

Thanks, Xavier. I knew about the Edgar award for Best First Novel, but not the nomination for Best Novel.

That, plus the several reprint editions the book has had, is what makes it difficult to believe that the premise, as you say, David, rings so false.

Wouldn’t someone on one of the Edgar committees or various editorial staffs have said, whoa, this whole book doesn’t make any sense?

At least you say, “That [bad and ineffective Mexican police work] is probably more true today than it was then.”

But it is difficult for me to argue a position having no facts in hand!

And one fact is very nearly insurmountable, that there are so few Mexican sleuths in all of crime fiction. Pablo Taibo III’s private eye character Hector Belasarian Shayne is the one that almost came to me last night. I don’t think I’ve run across any of the James Norman books before.

Thanks, Xavier. Though if she was of French-Canadian roots, how’d it happen that three of her four mysteries take place in Mexico?

As to her relative obscurity, awards and critical acclaim do not always lead automatically lead to commercial success. (I say this without having read any of her books, but I’m intrigued enough by the discussion so far to start tracking them down.)

I have no doubt the book deserved any awards it won, and deserved to be reprinted. That said, literary merits don’t mean it is accurate about the setting or situation, or that that accuracy came into the judgment of those awarding the Edgar.

If you want information about the dangers of traveling in Mexico try the US State Department, who strongly suggest that you don’t try it save in the immediate border area, or certain tourist areas.

My aunt and uncle were held up on the highway to Monterey in the late forties, but luckily only lost some money. In the sixties two college friends of mine on a bus trip to do missionary work were killed in a hold up. These stories are so common they don’t get much coverage.

Mexico is a large country. The police are underpaid and undermanned, and even when they are personally honest they are surrounded by corruption and politics that make HBO’s The Wire look Utopian.

I am not suggesting that individual policemen or even groups don’t try to do their job, but to pretend they conduct the kind of investigation in the book is mostly fantasy. Considering the near open war in parts of Mexico today over the drug problem I would imagine it is even worse than it was in the forties, sixties, seventies, and eighties when the cases I know about happened.

I’m sure this is a good book. All I was saying was that the premise struck me as false.

Mexico is a beautiful country and I’ve spent many pleasurable months there over the years. In general the people are open and warm and among the finest hosts in the world — but it does them no good to pretend the country doesn’t have huge problems, or to ignore the fact that anyone in Mexico would do well to avoid any involvement with the police. The sad truth be told that’s a pretty good piece of advice for any traveler outside of the major first world nations.

Suzanne Blanc was not a French Canadian. She was a Jewish girl of Russian origin from Hampden Mass. Her father, Neil, was a druggist in Springfield and changed his name from Belenky to Blanc. Her mother, Elsie Terry Blanc wrote a well known book on the agricultural cooperative movement in Russia.